We met with the hospice agency today to get things in order for Mom. Yup, we're there, folks. It has been a long-time coming, but it's still so bizarre to be getting everything in order to wrap up one's life.
Shine and Gofahne have taken to calling me "Alcatraz" because of my tendency to keep my walls firmly in place, locked up. (I know I'm allowed to break down, mind you. I'd simply rather not.) I feel like a friggin' robot because I really haven't cried much in the past few months. Certain moments set me off (like having to break the news to my wonderful brother or seeing my sweet Papaw sob), but I'm going about the whole situation like it's simply another task that needs to be handled. I'm discussing DNRs and signing end-of-life contracts as though I'm negotiating a gym membership: with little emotion and an eye for details.
As goofy as it sounds, I believe that I was built from the get-go to handle my mom's disease, death, and all that goes along with it. I was put under her roof a month before she was diagnosed (the second time) because it was my task to be her caretaker and see her through this journey. We've talked very openly about her disease from the very beginning, and I have been able to anticipate her needs and wants simply by nature of our deep-seeded relationship. She can communicate so much with just a glance or gesture in my direction. More than a testimony to an incredible bond, this is also part of what I believe God has given us both to see this through.
Not to mention, we've got a support network of family and friends that has straight up kept me out of the asylum. Nothing is coincidence, particularly the company that I find myself in during a time like this.
I know that tougher days still lie ahead. I wish my siblings could drop everything and come home, as I know they wish they could. But life has to and will go on, and nothing in this next chapter will be anything short of exactly what is meant to be. I have unwavering faith in that. And I wish the same for our family and friends.